


Only Human

by soprana



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Winry Rockbell, Brotherhood verse, F/M, Superpowers, The Golden Trio, Winry-centric, darkest minds/BNHA, protective big brother Ed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprana/pseuds/soprana
Summary: Winry gets wrapped up in something she has been lucky to avoid until now. Marked by a gift she cannot remember having and being hunted by bounty collectors for the military, she must confront a past she barely recalls and two golden boys that seem to know an uncomfortable amount about her. To rebel with the resistance was to put a target on her back, but if she truly had a ‘gift’, wasn’t she already a target?
Kudos: 6
Collections: FMA Big Bang 2020





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for joining me for my first FMA BigBang! A huge shout out to my artist cateringfears! A fellow Alphonse fan! Thanks for sticking with me! Check her twitter caterfears!

There was something special about waking before the sun. She never wanted to put a label on it: the feel of the breeze before the first rays of light breached the horizon or the way the darkness slowly creeped away. 

When Winry Rockbell set out from her small hometown to make a leap in her apprenticeship, those small, little things got her ready to face the day. Every morning, this natural song that she kept on replay would accompany her to her internship shop. The last bit of peace she would have before the fires of the forge and the grind of gears. 

The dusty, dirt streets of Rush Valley were always quiet at this time: all the engineers were resting, outfitties sleeping, drunks just getting to bed. It was the perfect time for her to start the day. She would have time to work on her own projects before customers came in. This had been her schedule for nearly two years. At seventeen, she was already a distinguished engineer. That was nothing to sneeze at and Mr. Garfiel made sure to remind her that complacency would stall her growth.

Automail, the crowning jewel in amputation rehabilitation, had been her passion since she could remember. While other kids learned arithmetic and spelling, she had snuck in a medical encyclopedia to read when the lecture got boring. 

That, and it was her grandma’s trade back in Resembool. She had a head start on training in the craft. Talent had nothing to do with it. It was passion and grit. Winry never forgot the long all-nighters of study and practice that led her to where she was now.

Nor had she forgotten the judgement when she rolled into Rush Valley with an old, red toolbox on her back and stars in her eye. Automail was still a male-dominated field, despite the reputation her granny has. Not a lot of old men were leaping at the chance to let a ‘little girl’ shadow them. 

It was by pure chance she was robbed by Paninya, who introduced her to Dominic when Winry hunted her down. Dominic despised her and her begging with a passion but then became indebted to her by a completely astronomical chance out of anyone’s control really. Like, what are the odds his daughter-in-law goes into labor early, hours away from a midwife and during a terrible storm? Winry was still thankful she read medical encyclopedias for fun and knew how to keep both mother and child alive. Then she met Mr. Garfiel at Dominic’s insistence, and began her first steps as a real deal automail engineer.

Pulling out her keys, Winry sidled up to the side entrance to the shop, because opening the main doors at this hour invited all kinds of trouble. Three quarters turn left and then a strong kick to the right bottom corner, the rusty iron door jolted open, creaking open to bang into a shelf behind it. One would think a mechanic shop oiled their doors but Winry swears she’ll get to it eventually. 

Setting her faithful toolbox on one of the wood work desks, Winry heaved a sigh, cracking her shoulders before setting off to find the light switch. The street lamps were still on, the horizon just beginning to lighten, but Winry didn’t need light to know where to find things in this shop. 

For the first time in months, there were no surgeries planned. It was just maintenance and re-fit visits, so she had all the time in the world for her precious works of art. Her, and the sweet sound of gyros and calipers. 

“Winry dear! Oh, I swear you never sleep!”  
Or, not. 

“Mr. Garfiel! Y-You’re early!”  
Mr. Garfiel intimidated her at first, but she chalked it up to nerves. After all, she was asking him to take a chance on her and teach her. But a six foot man wearing pink and doing a pinky salute was not what she expected. She also didn’t expect him to accept her with open arms and a bone crushing hug that she still was sore from! 

“Oh Winny, when are you going to call me just Garfiel?” he sighed, cupping his stubbled cheek as he walked past.  
Never, Winry thought. “When I become a certified engineer.” 

He hummed, not really committing to the scolding as he easily lifted the garage door up with one arm and sipping tea with the other. “You are gonna drop dead if you don’t rest once in a while.” But, he left her be, starting to uncover the soldering guns and place the spanners out. “Remember I’m stepping out today, Winny dear. You’ll have to close the shop for me.”

Winry paused in assembling nerve cables, blinking when she pinched her finger in a crevice. She hadn’t lost focus like that in years?

Turning to Garfiel, she stared at him as he casually plugged in the grinder and power hammer. She watched as he set out his wrenches smallest to largest, rolled out his blueprints for a final look over, and checked inventory.

His hands moved sure and steady as any good engineer should, but his eyes were sharper, the corners tight, his lips pursed. He looked normal but, somehow he wasn’t. Winry knew there wasn’t such a thing as normal in this wide world, but there were exceptional people. 

“Is…” she licked her lips, “Is it…?”

Garfiel paused, staring at an oil stain on the floor for a moment. Then he closed his eyes. “Yeah, I gotta check-in.”

Check-in. Just a check-in. She didn’t realize she sighed in relief until she heard Mr. Garfiel snicker.

“Winry dear, my ‘gift’ isn’t good enough for the military to take me. I’m just a number one.”  
Winry never took much stock in ‘gifts’. In her small town, there had never been a gifted human. Therefore, she never had to deal with the military coming to sniff around. 

Amestris was a great alchemical power. The military invested much in the State Alchemist program, keeping the recruits like dogs to come when called.  
But, for a few years now, Amestris started investing interest in something else...the citizens. It didn’t happen overnight, but more people were born with strange powers, gifts. It could range from being able to create sparks from the fingertips to lifting an entire locomotive. 

Before she was born, there was chaos and a few wars when powers grew unchecked. The government put forth a rank system to place certain powers above others in damage and danger. Or, that’s what she read in history books. After coming to Rush Valley, Winry learned a lot more about it.

That One’s and Two’s were monitored, Three’s were almost always called to enlist in the military, and Four’s were shipped out to camps for specific training. Five’s...just didn’t exist. 

She had never seen a gift used before until she met Mr. Garfiel and his ability. The first time he warped metal with two fingers was a sight to behold. Bent it between two index fingers like a piece of string. She nearly fainted from excitement. 

However, he could only do it with his fingers, and certain metals he could not bend: like the fine carbon alloy of northern automail. To the military, his ability was ranked at One; the least concerning. 

A few of her customers were Ones. Only two were Twos. They would have to check-in with the military representatives that must be visiting. It made her a little ill to the stomach. 

Lost to her thoughts, Winry missed Mr. Garfiel approaching, startling when he patted her head. Looking up to him, she blinked when he only smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s something that keeps the population safe. I don’t mind.”

Somehow, Winry didn’t believe him. But, she didn’t say anything else about it. It was only after the conversation that she realized she had been using the wrong sized screwdriver.  
.  
.  
.  
.

Winry sighed as she rested at her work bench peacefully, a surprising break in appointments allowing her to gather her nerves. Today was off. She could sense a disturbance in the schedule, yet she was actually ahead of orders. It made her antsy and alert.

She thumbed through her anatomy dictionary, sketching blueprints and notes with her right hand. When her hand cramped she switched to her left. She recalled being so proud being ambidextrous. One more thing her parents praised her for.

She didn't hear the knock on the aluminum door of her shop until a throat was cleared. She turned her head to see a man patiently waiting to be invited in, his mouth a polite grin. “Sorry, I'm not taking customers at the moment.” She said warmly. Should the 'customer service' tone not work in sending him on his way, she didn't know if she had the energy to be confrontational.

The man chuckled at her like she was some naive child before fishing in his pocket, revealing a long silver chain and a silver watch on the end. Suddenly, Winry was feeling much more hospitable.

She shot up, knocking into her desk and spilling bolts everywhere, wincing at the bruises she would have on her legs and hips. “Ohmygosh! Sorry! I didn't know you were a State Alchemist! Please come in!” She squawked, hustling around to find a chair without grease and dust. He was wearing such a nice suit. She would be embarrassed if it was ruined in her shop.

State Alchemist. Winry didn't agree with them, but they were the dogs of the military. If one came into your shop, you had to try and impress them. After all, connections with higher ups in the military was a profitable feat.

To have such unimaginable power at their fingertips must be something, Winry thought as he approached, his eyes scanning the shop silently. “Please excuse my intrusion,” He said, his voice like smooth icing: too flowing and much too sweet. “I'm looking for Miss Rockbell. I believe this is the shop she works at.”

_Ohmygosh, he's looking for me._ Winry thought heatedly before removing her dirty gloves to reveal her clean hands. She held out her hand with a proud smile. “I'm Winry Rockbell. Welcome to Garfiel’s.”

He didn't seem surprised. If anything, he already knew who she was, Winry deduced as he simply bowed to her, not taking her hand. “Ah, I see now. Yes, a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Solf Kimblee.” He gushed minutely. 

Winry blinked before peeping, “The Crimson Alchemist?” 

Kimblee smiled, looking relatively pleased. “Yes. I'm glad you have heard of me. I have come all the way from Central. I must say you are quite radiant.”

Winry felt like she could smelt iron with how hot her face felt at the compliment. In an effort to remove herself from the suffocating embarrassment, she stepped back, still feeling the waves of discomfort. “Uh...may I get you some tea?” She squeaked, turning even more red. The man smiled. “That would be divine.”

The mechanic never had so much difficulty making tea for her hands were shaking so badly. It felt like she was performing her first surgery all over again. She never could remember the what or who or why of it, but the horrible feelings of desperation and uncertainty remained. Once he had his tea and took the seat across from him did Winry slip into business mode.

"So, what brings you in today, Mr...Kimblee, was it?"

She didn't know what it was, but air felt still, like it did before a big summer storm. But, the man was smiling so pleasantly and dressed so professionally. Surely he wasn't all that bad for a State Alchemist? Not that she ever met one personally.

The man sipped his tea for a moment and Winry was beginning to think he ignored her until his sharp eyes browsed the room, lingering on her tools and even longer on her face. Only stubbornness and time facing down angry customers have her the power to meet his gaze evenly, silently praying he didn't sense her discomfort.

He replaced the tea cup to the saucer without so much as a clatter before sighing. "Pardon my staring Ms. Rockbell. I didn't mean to seem rude. It's just...you look so much like your mother, it's startling really. But I can see some of your father's face too."

It was a distraction and a damn good one. Any mention of her parents was a precursor to her interrogating her way through the conversation. The curve of his lips was kind, but his eyes had a gleam like he knew what she wanted to hear. But maybe his profession made him severe, weathered. 

“You knew my parents?” She asked before she could tone down the excitement. Winry leaned forward, looking hopeful for new information on her family and unable to worry about the strange man. They died when she was so young. She never got to hear stories of their past like she wanted. 

Kimblee sighed, shaking his head. “I'm afraid not. I was not fortunate enough to make their acquaintance. They saved so many lives. I was a member of the squad that would've escorted them home, but...” He trailed off. 

Winry frowned, not needing him to continue. She could fill in the blanks, the grim line setting in. “They were killed.” She answered softly, staring into her steaming cup of tea, untouched. 

Kimblee watched her before speaking. “I would like to offer my apologies. If my squad had arrived sooner, they would be here with you now. It is...I consider it one of my greatest failures." The nice suit crinkled as his shoulders slumped. He slid the tea onto a nearby table before bowing his head, wrinkling the pants too.

The admission took her breath away and brought unwanted tears to her eyes. 

She didn't recall much of her early childhood. Granny always mentioned her bumping her head while she was playing out by some burned ruins. Everything was fuzzy, incomplete like a blot of ink on a page.

But, she always remembered her mother's singing and how she giggled when Winry decided to play in the clean laundry basket.  
Her father's smile never faded from memory, even if the rest of his face only came to her after staring at pictures.  
She also never forgot their backs in the distance, leaving her and granny alone with the yellow house on the hill. Her father, his back ramrod straight like he was going to war and her mother, shoulders drawn and her head high. Two doctors marching off like little soldiers in battle with the hopes to help the wounded.

At the funeral, everyone told her how brave she was: how strong she was going to have to be facing the loss.  
To her, her parents were brave. Her granny was strong. Little Winry, barely able to braid her own hair, wasn't either.

Stories brought her parents to life again, at least, in her heart. Granny had long ran out of new ones and the distant friends were far too busy to rehash tales at her whim.  
At least the Rockbells were still remembered, even to the military.

"Thank you. They helped out till the very end." 

Kimblee gave a melancholic smile, eyes not straying from hers. "They did. It was the most honorable thing that happened out in Ishval. I wish I could have met them."  
Winry wished she could remember them much at all, but settled for picking at her overall seams.

“Thank you, Mr. Kimblee. I hope you don't blame yourself. I...I'm honored to meet you.” She said truthfully, finally finding that voice she had when there was nothing else to say. 

Kimblee nodded, not looking away from the grease spot on her right knee. “No, the honor is all mine, Miss Rockbell.”

Silence surrounded them before he spoke again, more upbeat and cheery. It felt so false to Winry, yet she ignored the instincts jabbing her in her chest. The clatter of his empty tea cup to the saucer could have been as loud as a gunshot, drawing her immediate attention as the man straightened.

"But today I didn't only come to bear bad memories. I also bring a great opportunity for you. One that will elevate your experience, I'm sure." Winry wasn't too familiar with speeches, but she could tell when one was practiced...or planned.

"Oh? What could a State Alchemist offer me? I'm just an automail engineer, sir."

His smile was sharp like a salesman.

“I'm honored to formally extend a personal invitation from the military organization, Advanced Individual Assimilation Project. Or the AIAP, as we sometimes call it.” 

Winry paused, tilting her head. “AIAP? Never heard of it.” And why would she? The military wasn't everyone's favorite, especially after the Ishval Uprisings. It certainly wasn't her favorite at the moment, what with Mr. Garfiel.

Kimblee laughed, a dark and haunting sound Winry found that she loathed. It was just like the old men that laughed at her for questioning their practice, or why they did things certain ways. It made her feel like a child, like she wasn't getting the bigger picture. 

“That's because it is under the books. Only those worthy know of it. And, Miss Rockbell, you are just that.” He set his tea cup aside, uncrossing his legs. “Your work with mechanics has traveled far, to the military's ears. They wish to offer you a new job working for them under AIAP. You will be paid handsomely.” He added, frowning at her unsure face.

Unsure, and a little unnerved. Something inside her was writhing, a warning as old as the human race itself. Stop. Danger. Go back.

“I'm honored. But...what of my customers? I can't just up and leave them.” She said, sipping at the now chilled tea and willing her face still. “My duty is to my customers.”

Kimblee nodded in understanding. Winry hoped he did. 

“Understandable. Which is why the military will fund one week each month where you return to your customers.”

Winry paused, looking askance. “Well...” 

Kimblee frowned, looking more severe than before, all kindness gone. Like a crack of thunder over a sunny day.

“Miss Rockbell, I think you don't understand. You are desired for the project. There is no choice. You have distinguished yourself enough into the eyes of the military. This is the price you pay.” He said, standing up to loom over her, and Winry felt the threat. “I suggest you accept this great offer and come with me.” He left no room for arguments. She wasn't dumb enough to not know the consequences to not come when the military summons. But...why? Wasn't that only for the Gifted?

Swallowing her fear, coaching herself not to panic, her shaking returned ten fold. This time, Kimblee noticed. Predators always notice those things. He did not comfort or assure her this time.

“Uh...okay. Can I...gather my things? Here and the shop? Just what I need?” She hoped he let her. This weak, permission seeking, fancy footing Winry was someone she was not. She would clock him with a wrench...but then he could deconstruct her innards: make her explode easily. He could kill her and not even blink. She could now see the side she read about, and prayed it was wrong. The Crimson Alchemist was a heavy hammer to Ishval. Winry would do anything to prevent it turning on Rush Valley and this little shop. "I also have to let my employer know. He is the type to worry if I don't check in."

He seemed to relinquish his oppressing presence, adopting his warm air again as he stepped away. At least, she found air to breathe again.  
“Of course. I have errands to run for the day as well. You may finish your appointments. Do not tell Mr…Garfiel, was it, about AIAP. Remember, it is confidential. I'll leave the story to you." 

He turned to leave, giving Winry a chance to have a single thought when he paused. “And Miss Rockbell, don't think about running. I know where you live, your family, your Resembool home. Have a nice day.” He added, leaving the shop and herself a mess.

Once upon a time, Winry had one panic attack. It was a long time ago and she didn't remember details, but it was after her fall at the burned house on the hill. She just...looked at the picture wall her granny favored, and suddenly all the weight of the world came on her chest. Her ribs weren't broken but her lungs just wouldn't work. She didn't understand why Den, her dog, was yelping as she hit the floor. As it turned out, Winry lost balance and fell on Den.

Her granny called her a klutz after calming her down. Winry was inclined to believe her. That, and there were fewer pictures on the wall when she was brave enough to look again.

This time, there was no Den to break her fall or granny to tell her to get herself together. There was nobody there to stop her breaking into pieces this time.

Everything was a blur as she touched the dusty linoleum floor, index finger pressing hard to a small screw. Her lungs hurt, eyes throbbing in time with her racing heart.

She was here, still here in the shop. No customers. No Garfiel. No witnesses.

No escape.

Work was out of the question. Going home to Resembool was out of the question. Telling anyone was just...not possible. Who would believe her? Or, what could anyone do against the military or the Crimson Alchemist?

When the military summoned Gifted, they had to come. When opportunities were offered, Winry was sure that normal humans could turn them down.

They were forcing her, like they did with Fours. But, to allow her to come back once a month?

None of this made sense but she had to make a game plan.

Winry never felt more disjointed as she hurried to pack her things. Everything. Her tools and manuals; the prototype arm she was designing. It was out of body, like she was observing as a ghost as she scribbled something about a family emergency to Mr. Garfiel on a scrap page.  
Her grandmother would be twenty times harder to talk to.

Winry immediately gathered her tool box once the nite was done, locking the shop and speed walking back to her apartment, nervously scanning around her and dodging pedestrians like they would assault her for nearing them. Her heart was in her throat, her eyes wide and more alert than ever. Her mind screamed to run, to hide, to free herself from this.

She wanted to be distinguished, to be desired...but not like this. Never like this.

She took the stairs two at a time, frantically unlocking her door and darting inside, closing the door silently and bolting it. Her back met against the cold wood, gasping and dropping her toolbox onto the small halltree for her coats. She allowed a second of disarray, sobbing and trembling, praying she got out of this. The military pretty much was kidnapping her, taking her hostage for her skills. It was like some screwed up story. She would not have it.

She was going to go to Resembool and warn her granny. After that, she didn't know.

She tore to the kitchen, snatching a travel bag and flying through the house collecting necessary items. Money, papers, books, everything she may need. If she was going to pull off living on the road, she may as well have some luxury items. Maybe she could hide in a train car, like in a story she read as a child. Maybe this was a bad dream. Maybe she was making the worst mistake by running. Mr. Kimblee wasn't so bad as long as she didn't make him mad enough to splatter her blood all over.

Who was she kidding, people faced this everyday. Threes and Fours were forced to go when the military called. What made her different?

As soon as she got to her room, she froze solid, dropping her bag and cringing at the thump. The door was cracked open. She never left her door open because it let all the cooler air escape into her bedroom.

Panic rising, she grasped her wrench and gripped it tight. Kimblee said she'd have time to gather her things, but he never said she wasn't going to be monitored during it.

But, in Rush Valley, in her home, she was within her right to swing first and ask later. 

Inching to the door, she listened, noting shuffles from inside. Was she being robbed?

Debating just fleeing the apartment, she decided to face this person with her wrench, burglar or military. She at least needed the photo of her parents inside. She could not leave until she had that. Coaching herself, counting to three and trying to talk herself out of it for a final time, she turned the knob and barged in, wrench raised.

Empty. 

She blinked for a second when suddenly she was seized from behind, hand slapped harshly over her mouth and the wrench was torn from her hand. With a muffled screech, Winry writhed without any progress, seeing a black clothed suit of armor emerge from the right, continuing rummaging through her things with little clanks and heavy steps. 

Winry arched on her toes, biting at the hand covering her mouth and yelping in pain. Automail. She thought wildly. Take two. She freed her hands, grabbing his left arm like a vice. He made a squawk of alarm when she pressed her rump firmly in the cradle of his hips. With one mighty hiss, Winry bent over, pulling her attacker over her back and slamming him flat on his back. Not wasting time, she delivered one powerful smack to his covered face before whirling on the second intruder closing in. 

She threw a punch, not shocked when he caught it, though surprisingly gentle for someone in a suit of metal. It was her turn to surprise him by grasping his hand with her free one, planting her feet and swinging him around her to knock into the other man who was just getting back up, though with much difficulty. 

Both assaulters rolled into the closet door, and Winry used her time wisely. She snatched a bag she packed for surprise, short notice trips to Resembool: with all the clothes she would need for a week. 

She was ready to run out the door when she saw the photo on her desk. Her parents, all smiles, leaning near her as she showed off a lovely sunhat, Granny, a brown haired woman, and two boys in the far background. It was her favorite picture. 

Sparing one fearful glance to her closet, she saw her first attacker was standing up, furious eyes like molten lava on her. It was as if he was boiling her soul. She glanced to the photo again, and his eyes followed hers, locking on the smiling group.

She made the first move, and he let her. She snatched the photo and crammed it in the bag before rounding back to her escape. The man blocked it. Winry stopped, eyes shifting between the two attackers before looking to the window. She was three stories up. Could she make it? If she adjusted her body, she would have some broken bones, but the public would see. 

High on adrenaline, it was a tempting idea for her. 

_“You don't want to do that.”_ A rough voice grunted from the automail man. 

_“Think about this. We just want you to come with us.”_ The other one said softly, trying to talk her down, his voice echoing through the armor. 

But, Winry refused to trust, _refused to be ordered around, refused to go down without giving her all._ She was Winry Rockbell and nobody, State Alchemist or kidnappers were going to get in her way.

“You think I'm going to go easily? Tough luck, nobody jerks me around!” She hissed, shouldering her bag securely to her. It would be a long trip down. She glanced to the toolbox abandoned in the doorway behind the automail man. The men watched her debate gathering it before locking on them. They weren't worth fighting just for the toolbox. 

“I'm not going with you. I'm not going with Kimblee. I'm leaving, one way or another.” At their shared glances, Winry suddenly could tell these guys weren't working for Kimblee. 

_“Um...Miss Rockbell, you really need to come with us.”_ The other man said, stepping closer and stopping when she inched to the windowsill. _“You won't be harmed. We promise.”_  
Something deep down told her to trust him. Her rationale stomped it out. They broke into her house, shifted through her things, restrained her, and now wanted her to trust them. Nope.

“I just make automail. Why is everybody want from me?” She grilled. 

They didn't answer, not that she expected as much. She waited long enough. 

She dashed for the window, not intending to run through it, but just get it open. She just oiled it last week after all. The men startled before giving chase, but she already had the window open and her leg through. There was a clap and a flash of blue electric light and her other leg was melded to the carpet. That stalled her enough for the men to reach her and drag her back, kicking and screaming some of the more nasty swears she heard her granny use in poker.

Once again, a hand covered her mouth...only this time it smelled off. Realization hit her before the fatigue. Then the blackness.  
.

.

.

She slumped over into their arms, unconscious. 

_“There. That was way harder than it needed to be.”_ The automail man proclaimed, hoisting her over his shoulder effortlessly. _“What a pain in the ass.”_

The other man shook his head, gathering the toolbox and the bag. _“You are always so rash, brother. Come on. If Kimblee is here, she is in danger.”_

The limp Winry was adjusted as the older man lead the way out, kicking over chairs and things to make it look like a struggle. If she was unwillingly taken, they couldn't fault her family.  
_“Come on, let's take the back door.”_ He grumbled. 

The other man chuckled, carrying her bags. _“You're just mad she floored you...twice.”_

_“Shaddup.”_


End file.
